


neverland

by alicebishop



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassins & Hitmen, Exes with Benefits, Han Jisung just wants to forget, Lee Minho can't get over the past, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 08:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30052377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicebishop/pseuds/alicebishop
Summary: Agent Lee Minho is a traitor. Han Jisung - colleague and ex-boyfriend - is under orders to kill him.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

“You know I hate it when you smoke.”

I only turn my head halfway. Jisung is crouching on my windowsill, backlit in the early morning sun. I turn again so he won’t see me smile.

“That’s why I do it,” I say.

He jumps inside, closes the window behind him. “Were you expecting me?”

“Maybe. I needed something to look forward to today.”

“Aw. Bullshit.”

He sounds tense. I face him. “What?”

He shrugs. “Plane ticket booked and everything. You must be excited to get outta here.” His jaw clicks in and out. “Were you going to tell me?”

“You’re just here to guilt me out? I don’t owe you shit, Jisung.”

“I know, that’s not why I came. Look, I wanted to… warn you. The Company knows everything.”

I stop, the cigarette between my lips. This isn’t good. My leg starts bouncing.

I take a slow drag. “Well. Good to know.”

Jisung walks over, takes the cigarette, pulls a lungful and throws it on the floor, stamping it out with his heel.

“If you’re just here to fuck up my day,” I say tightly, “then leave.”

“I’m not done talking. Minho, The Company called me in earlier. They ordered me to kill you.”

I look up at him, his cross face in the dull lamp light. “They’re making you…?”

“You’re my mission now. Tailing you, keeping an eye on you. I’m supposed to shoot to kill.”

“You agreed to it?”

“What else could I do?”

A smile tugs at my lips. “Why aren’t you killing me now then?”

“I’m giving you a head start. I care about you.” He kicks my foot. “Motherfucker.”

I laugh. “I’m flattered.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. You — you’re gonna kill me?”

“What, you don’t think I could?”

“You’re just chatting with me, unarmed — it says a lot.”

“Who said I’m unarmed?”

“I know you’re unarmed.”

His jaw clenches. He straddles me and takes my face in one hand, tipping it up to his.

“Prove it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Like I said, he has no weapons on him. I make sure of it. Twice.

Lying next to him, watching his sleepy face in the light of sunset, I can’t help but think about it. When I fell for him.

We joined The Company at the same time. I was 17, he was 16, my parents were dead, his were homeless. All we were looking for was a paycheque and a place to sleep. The Company was government-sanctioned but independent enough to bend whatever restrictions might have been enforced otherwise. They groomed spies and assassins to handle domestic matters that the police and military could not — either because their involvement would cause international upheaval, or because the general public still weren’t aware they lived in a police state. We were taught how to kill in The Company’s interest, how to use guns, knives, poisons, deception, seduction, intimidation, and most of all, how to be discreet about it.

Through the training process, he was my only friend. The instructors, handlers and staff didn’t give a shit about us, the other students were just trying to make it out alive. We took out our grief and rage on each other, we fought constantly, but at the same time we knew more about each other than anyone else. As soon as practice was over, we would sneak down to the kitchen to ice our bruises and treat our cuts, comforting each other as best we could.

After years inside The Company, I forgot what it felt like to have the sunlight on my face. All I ever saw were cold walls and ceilings, guns heavier than I could carry and dried blood on the practice room floor. At night my roommates would whisper about a former class that fucked up and got themselves caught on a security camera. The Company erased their files, their lives, the next day.

At the time, I didn’t care whether I ended up one of The Company’s discards or not. At least I wasn’t sleeping in the cold, at least I’d found a purpose.

And then Jisung kissed me. Huddled up in the kitchen, trying to staunch a cut on his forehead — he pecked me on the lips, said a quick I love you. Seeing him after that, everything was different. Looking into his eyes was like seeing the sun again. But even back then, I knew we weren’t going to last. I chose to ignore it. Our brief moments alone, just us two, were too precious to fret over, too fleeting to try to protect.

I remember the words that fucked everything up.

“I think we should run away.”

“Are you fucking insane?”

It became a fight raging like wildfire — I’m surprised the building didn’t burn to the ground. At the time, I didn’t understand why he was so resistant to the idea. Working for The Company so long, we were practically classified information on legs; they wouldn’t let us go easily. But weren’t our lives balancing on needle points already? If it didn’t end now, if we didn’t stop it while we still could, however reckless and dangerous, when would it end?

We grew apart after that. In hindsight, we were fighting about more than just escape. I was hurt that he wouldn’t risk his life for me, that he wasn’t as sure of the uppercase Us as I was. He was mad that I was pushing him into a box when he felt so trapped already. He accepted what we had, the relative safety, the relative happiness. I wanted more.

After we split up, I didn’t see the point of running away anymore. As angry as I was, I didn’t want to leave him alone — I didn’t want to be alone. So we stayed, and though we never got back together, he still sleeps over sometimes. It’s depressing when I think about it. We aren’t close anymore, so we have to take closeness where we can find it — at least, that’s how it is for me. Besides, it’s not like I can say no to him when he climbs through my window. No, he still owns me, he’s always kept my heart safely in his pocket, whether he means to or not.

“I’m only ever happy when I’m with you.”

It was a month or so ago. I assumed he wouldn’t answer, but he spoke quietly, hoarsely, without rolling over to face me.

“You know what’d make me happy?” he said.

“What?”

“If you found something else that made you happy. We’re not… us, Minho. Why are you still waiting for me?”

Why? Because I still love you.

Nothing was right anymore. I just wanted out. That drive, that desperation to start a new life, came back to me. If Jisung wanted me to find happiness, I’d do it for him. If I had nothing left, I might as well risk it all. And if I didn’t make it out, at least I’d be free.

Now, it’s seeming more and more likely that I won’t make it out. The Company knows I’m planning to escape, they sent someone to kill me. I’ve only ever known two people who tried to get out; one was found swinging from a ceiling fan, and the other made it as far as the border before he got run off the road into a ravine. Whether Jisung manages to eliminate me or not, I’ll probably be bobbing in the Han River soon.

He snorts through his nose, startles himself awake. He swears and curls onto his side. I watch him again, his pretty, chubby face. Everyday I wish we hadn’t fucked Us up. Maybe I could have loved him properly if I’d just bitten the bullet and seen a shrink. Surprisingly my healthcare covers it.

It hits me that this is our last time together. The last time he’ll barge into my apartment and profess his indifference only to stay the night. The last time I’ll get to steal kisses, pretending for a second that he’s still mine. All of the sudden this moment is so, so precious. I’ll be dead soon.

Lord, if I have to die… please let me play with him a little longer.

“You awake?” I gently brush the hair out of his face.

He swats my hand away. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m gonna kill you first.”


	3. Chapter 3

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He’s angrily pulling a shirt on at the foot of the bed. I’m just sitting back against the headboard and enjoying his bluster.

“You’re such a child. This is serious — this is serious shit — and you’re making a game out of it.”

“So what if I wanna have a little fun in my last weeks?”

“Maybe instead of _having fun_ you should be figuring out how to save your own ass.”

“What’s the point? I’m betraying The Company, they know I am — I’m fucked. Of all people, you should know, you’re the one who made me give up on getting out the first time.”

“I fucking know! I tried to save you, I really tried, but you deluded yourself into thinking you could escape, and now you’re barely even trying!”

 _“You_ gave me the idea, you know. You said I should find happiness somewhere else — I took your advice.”

“Jesus Christ, I meant a boyfriend! Friends, a penpal, a pet — take up crocheting for fuck’s sake!”

“I’ll _die_ before I crochet.”

He grabs his shoe, reaches in and pulls out a shiv. “I had this all night, Minho, I could’ve killed you.”

“Aw, bummer, you should have.”

He scowls and shoves it back into his shoe.

I scoot to the end of the bed and look up at him, hands on his hips. “I’m sorry, honey. I just wanna play with you a little longer.”

“A death match is play to you?”

“You haven’t seen yourself when you fight, you get the cutest look on your face.”

“This isn’t a game to me, it’s a mission.”

“And I wish you the best of luck.”

He rolls his eyes. He’s about to leave my bedroom but I catch his hand and pull it to my lips.

“Come back later?”

“Obviously not.”

“But I’ll be seeing you? On the roof with a rifle maybe?”

“Sometimes I think you just want my attention.”

“You’re really only figuring this out now?”

He pokes my forehead with one finger and I slump backward onto the bed. When I open my eyes he’s gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Monday night is the start of my work week. If Jisung hadn’t opened his big mouth yesterday, I wouldn’t have guessed I’d been blacklisted. The guard dressed as a vagrant, hiding in plain sight, nods me into Headquarters without giving anything away. I ride the elevator with Seo Soojin, who I’ve known since I joined The Company, but all she says is ‘press that button for me’ and ‘your shoe is untied.’ Maybe I shouldn’t have expected anything more from a bunch of heartless murderers.

I get off the elevator and head down the hall. The carpet is scuffed and the fluorescents are flickering. Jisung turns the corner ahead of me. I call him cute so he shoulder-checks me as we pass.

I lean back in my squeaky chair, flipping open the unmarked file on my desk. Objective: kill Gok Jinsang, retrieve his cellphone and deliver it to location X. I scan for an address and recommended weapon and skip the rest. I’ve learned the less information the better when it comes to my work.

The elevator takes me to the armoury. I pass the guns and smoke bombs to the display case of knives — karambits and ballistics and balisongs and a few cleavers. I take an army knife that fits inside my holster and head to the elevator again, riding till it opens to the parking garage. I promptly make my way to the black Lambo. Jisung used to say my taste in cars was gaudy, but his favourite is the Spyder, so neither of us are in a position to judge.

I drive to Gok’s district. The streetlights are dim in front of massive, gated houses. Though the mission won’t take long, I don’t want to park at the curb; the residents of neighbourhoods like this tend to surveil their property. I pass my target’s house and continue around the corner, down the street, watching my red dot on the GPS.

I leave the car next to a defunct gas station and head back to Gok’s on foot. Avoiding the security cameras again — and for fear of impaling my beautiful self on the spiky fence surrounding the front lawn — I cut through a neighbour’s backyard, keeping low to the pristine grass.

I crawl through a shrub and tumble out the other side. There’s a ground-level window in the side of a brown stucco wall; I dig into the utility belt on my hip. I remember I used to doubt clothes hangers would ever be useful in real-life operations… but I also thought it would be cool to go by a code name like Shadow Blade, so obviously I knew jack shit back then.

I poke the wire through and jimmy the window open. Truly, it’s the most satisfying sound in the world, brute-forcing your way into someone else’s house. I push myself inside, land on the floor and do a barrel roll before sneaking up the staircase.

I inch the door open at the top and squeeze through. The living room is scattered with beer bottles, porn mags and pizza boxes. I hate it when my targets are slobs. There’s a wireless phone charger on the table but no phone to go with it. I hope — in vain, surely — that the mission won’t turn into a scavenger hunt after Gok is dead.

I turn the corner — there’s a flickering light upstairs. He’s awake. I take my knife out and climb the stairs. It’s like I’m tiptoeing through a field of landmines, trying not to step on the garbage littering the steps. I hear a noise as I approach the top, the frantic clicking of a video game controller.

The voice breaking the silence is like a bomb exploding.

_“God fucking damnit, you fucking idiot!”_

I flinch and my shoe bumps into a half-empty beer bottle. It clink-clunk-clanks down the steps and smashes against the floor.

The voice upstairs roars again. _“What the fuck?!”_

And then the sound of a gun cocking. Shit, I didn’t know _he’d_ have a gun. You should have read the file, dumbass, says my conscience, whose voice is strikingly similar to Jisung’s.

I leap over the banister, book it into the kitchen and slide behind the island. I’m sure he knows how to handle a gun, but as long as I catch him off guard, drowsy and distracted, hopefully I won’t die today. Wouldn’t that be poetically unpoetic, getting my head blown off before Jisung even has the chance to try.

Then I see an iPhone from the corner of my eye. It’s sitting on the counter, plugged into the wall. I narrow my eyes. If Gok’s phone is here, charging, why does he have a wireless charger as well?

“Who the fuck’s in my goddamn house?” Gok plows down the stairs, kicking pizza boxes out of the way. I flip my knife backward in my hand, looking out from behind the island. He’s wearing an open bathrobe and brandishing a handgun. “Show your face, candy-ass!”

I wait till he’s close enough, hovering next to the island, and then I swing out, slash my knife through his heels and kick my foot into his back. His body slams hard into the wall, drops to the floor. He cranes around to fire blindly, finger spasming against the trigger. I throw the knife — his head flies back as it pierces his forehead with a fleshy _thunk._ His body goes slack.

I exhale, briefly check myself for bullet wounds, but it seems like the only damage he did was to the ceiling. I retrieve my knife, not bothering to be delicate about it, and grab his phone from the counter.

I’m about to leave the way I came, but the charger sitting alone on the table catches my attention again. I pick it up in my gloved hands, turn it around, and find a little hole in the side. I take the mini flashlight out of my belt and shine it against the hollow. It refracts and glows.

I smile. “Ah. Eavesdropping, Jisungie? I should’ve guessed. Threats to company security get the baby monitor.” I turn the camera to Gok’s body. “As you can see, I dealt with the target. His place is a fucking dump, smells like pizza — hey, now that I think of it, what do you say to dinner, Hite and a movie? And something more fun afterward? Get back to me, I’m free all week.”

I’m in the middle of sending flying kisses when someone grabs my arm. I shriek and spaz out. Jisung yanks me toward the basement door, swiping the spy camera on his way.

“You absolute asshole,” he says. “I’m gonna have to tamper with the damned footage now. It’s like you _want_ to get offed.”

I skip to match his pace and wind my arm around his waist. “Death doesn’t seem so bad as long as you’re the one delivering it, hon—”

“Oh shut up.” He leaps and pulls himself up through the window. We duck through the bushes and make our way through the maze of backyards.

“Any blood spatter, gun residue?” he asks.

“I’m clean. You’ve been tailing me, haven’t you?”

“Obviously. I’m supposed to monitor you for suspicious behaviour.”

“Suspicious, as in, informed? Truth is, I do have information. How did I get my hands on that info again? Did a little bird fly in my window and sing and sing and—?”

“Okay, I get it. I’d appreciate a little more gratitude. I could’ve just suffocated you with a pillow but I decided to be a decent ex and give you a fighting chance.”

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I worship the ground you walk on. I’m especially grateful that you sacrificed your perfect record for me.”

“Perfect record?”

“You’re a mole now. It’s serious, you must have given it a lot of thought.”

He sighs through his nose and keeps his mouth shut.

We leap over a picket fence and hurry along the sidewalk, keeping our heads down. Jisung pulls a fob out of his pocket, clicks it once — a pair of headlights blare from the side of the road. The fucking Spyder. I roll my eyes.

“Give me a ride to the drop site?” I ask.

He scoffs. “I’m your tail, not your chauffeur, go use your own car.”

“Why must you torment me? I’m sad and elderly and alone.”

“You’re twenty-five.” He gets into the car and closes the door.

I bend over and knock on the window. He rolls it down halfway.

“You didn’t happen to hear the part where I invited you over for dinner and a movie, did you?”

“I didn’t. And the answer is no. Be vigilant, Agent Lee.”

I snort. “Same to you, Agent Han.”

The window closes and the motor revs gently. I step to the side as he zooms away. I spin around, trying to recalibrate. I retrace my steps down a back lane, leaving the neighbourhood behind. The sirens start quiet and get louder and louder. Soon the cops will find the body, mark it down as gang violence and skip the investigation. The Company and the police force have always been like two twisted pinkies.

I find the Lambo next to the gas station where I left it. I walk up to it, pull the fob out of my belt — and stop before I push the button. It smells like gasoline. I get to one knee and look underneath. A drop of liquid falls to the ground.

I back away slowly, hold the key out and press the button.

The car explodes in a blast of white light, a wave of dust throwing me back on my ass. I crawl away from the fire, coughing, pushing myself to my feet. I watch the flames rage, melting the car’s sleek body like a candle.

I smile.

Nice try, Agent Han.


	5. Chapter 5

March 2016. The month Jisung and I graduated as full-fledged agents. We lived our lives at night, hiding in bathrooms, waiting on roofs, picking off whoever The Company told us to. We hadn’t yet gotten used to the upside-down sleep schedule; we spent most days sacked out, alternating between his apartment and mine, dusk and dawn our only weekends.

But March 24, we decided to do something different. We took the bus to Lotte World and forked over 90 dollars for two all-inclusive passes. I wanted to feel like a kid again, I think we both did. I knew eventually in this line of work I wouldn’t be able to go back to the feeling of innocence, the place where magic existed if I let myself believe it, where love might last forever.

We rode 10 rides back to back and screamed our lungs out. We ate corndogs and Choco Pie and braved the ensuing stomachaches. With the summer heat and the afternoon sleepiness kicking in, we wandered around the park like the ghosts of an old married couple, just taking in the sights. We settled down somewhere we could see the cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, nudging each other every time we were about to doze off.

Before we left, we took pictures in a photo booth. First we smiled, then we scowled, then we kissed for the camera, then we forgot the camera entirely. I remember thinking in the moment, I will spend every last moment of my life with Han Jisung, if I’m so lucky.

I told him I wanted to keep the printed photos. He asked what I’d do with them. I said I’d keep them somewhere safe.

On March 25, I buried a lockbox of every little thing I wanted to protect. A sack of money I hadn’t deposited into the bank account that The Company monitored. A few fake IDs. The smallest gun I could get my hands on. And our photos.

A year or so later, we’d broken up, and I didn’t have much reason to care about the box I’d abandoned 12 inches underground. I’d given up on escape, I’d lost my safe place and my innocence and none of it was coming back. I tried so hard to forget what I had saved for myself, for the me who wanted to be free.

Now I’m out in the drizzling rain, heaving shovelful after shovelful of dirt into a heap. I’m sort of panicking. For fear of The Company finding out about the lockbox, I never left instructions on how to find it. I remember to walk down the path until the big log, turn left (or maybe right) after the swamp, and look out for the tree with no moss. I feel like throttling my past self for being a dumbass — _moss grows, don’t you know how nature works?!_

My shovel makes a hard clank as I force it into the ground. I drop to my knees and scrape out the remaining dirt with my hands. The lockbox is muddy and dented, crawling with bugs. I flip it over and the key is still there, duct-taped to the bottom in a Ziplock bag.

I splish-splosh through the wet dirt back to the main trail. There’s a hut with a bench and a kind-of-functional roof — I take a seat and force the box open.

The metal and plastic are damp, mouldy, with spiders silk balled in the corners. I set the gun next to me, take the forged passports out of the baggie and flip through them. The money seems so much less substantial than it did when I hid it away.

The last bag has the photos inside. I take them out. We were smiling so wide, kissing so deep. His hand cupping my face, gentle and loving. He wanted me back then.

Jesus Christ, I’d kill for a smoke right now.

I pack up and head out into the rain, sliding the lockbox into a grocery bag. I follow the forest path till the canopy recedes and the wood chips become concrete. Once I’m far from the trees, I take the pack of cigarettes out of my back pocket.

Bright white headlights are waiting for me. I pass the Spyder without looking at it, one hand covering the cigarette between my lips, the other thumbing at the lighter.

The headlights follow me, slugging along at 3 miles per hour to match my pace. I walk backward and stare at the tinted black windows. I can imagine his face, dire and a little embarrassed.

I stop, wait till he catches up and lean down to the window. It opens. I was right about his expression.

“Morning,” he says.

“I think you’re taking this tailing thing a little seriously.”

“I disagree. You could have been doing anything in the woods.” His eyes flit up and down. “What _were_ you doing?”

“That’s my business, honey. If you wanted to know you should’ve sent a drone.”

He snaps his fingers. “Fuck, I didn’t think of that.”

I pat the roof of the car and keep walking. He rolls forward and drives at my side.

“You want a ride?”

“Suddenly I’m allowed?”

“I’d rather not go negative miles-per-hour all the way back to your place. Besides, it’s less suspicious, less wasteful — and I have places to—”

“You just wanna know what I was doing.”

“Will you tell me?”

I take a drag, trying to hide my smile. “Fine.” I round the car and duck into the passenger side. Jisung shoots down the road, happy to haul ass again.

“Not gonna lecture me on the perils of smoking?” I ask.

“Fuck it, I’m not your mother.” He holds his hand out. “Gimme.”

“Alright.” I take a long pull and lean toward him, pursing my lips.

He rolls his eyes and squeezes my cheeks — the smoke puffs out. I shrink back into my seat, coughing.

“C’mon, shotgun kiss in shotgun.”

His lips only flutter up for a second. “Unpack the bag please.”

“As long as you’re asking nicely.” I take out the box and shove the key into the lock. “I should probably do it slowly, right? You never know what I might have here — a firearm, a sword, a bomb. It’d be funny if I just blew us to hell right now.”

He furrows his brow at the road. “It wouldn’t be _funny,_ exactly.”

I shrug. “Speaking of blowing up cars…”

“Right. That. I see it didn’t work as well as I thought it would.”

“Unfortunately I am still bound to this earth. Gotta admit, I’m kind of disappointed. Where’s the creativity, the verve?”

“Just because it’s _you_ who’s gonna die doesn’t mean the method has to be annoying and needlessly theatrical.”

“You call it annoying and theatrical, I call it my last desperate attempt to find any sort of happiness in life.”

“Why do you do that? What do you want? A rise, pity, concern, what?”

“Teasing you happens to be the only other thing that gives me joy.”

His eye twitches. “Changing the subject now. Who’s Seok Duckhwan?” He nods down at the pile of fake IDs.

“Alias — one of them. I thought I might need them someday. Turns out.”

“You buried this for yourself? When? Why?”

“Four years ago. It’s everything I wanted to protect.” I show him the sack of money.

“Shit,” he murmurs. “The Company doesn’t know about this, right?”

“No. I made sure of it.” I pick up the gun by the barrel so he knows I won’t shoot him. “Wasn’t easy to get this with a fake name.”

“What’s that?”

He’s looking at our photos. I hold them out. He pulls over to the side of the road and snatches them out of my hand. His lips come open as he looks them over

“You remember,” I say.

His eyes are stuck on the last frame. “Yeah. I assumed you burned them or something.”

“Why would I burn them?”

“I would have.” He drops his head back against the seat. “That was so much fun. Probably the last time I had a day off that didn’t involve illegal substances. Or you.”

I smirk. “I still don’t understand how you downed so much Choco Pie.”

“You ate just as much as me! Lord, I felt like shit, I thought I was gonna puke.”

“Aw, we could have gone home.”

He smiles, shakes his head. “You were running around like a kid, pointing and shouting at everything you saw. I didn’t see you like that often. It made me so happy.” He clears his throat. “And we paid all that fucking money to get in, it’d be stupid to waste it.”

“We could go back sometime.”

His eyes slip down to the last frame again. He smiles a little. “No, we can’t.” He sets the photos in the box and pulls back onto the road.

I’m clenching my teeth. I keep the cigarette between my lips as I speak. “Like I was saying, the explosion was a bit pedestrian. I assumed you’d have some better ideas.”

“What, should I build a guillotine? Or would you rather fight to the death on top of the Namsan Tower?”

“Ooh now you’re getting it. Make it romantic. Poison a chocolate strawberry. Make love to me all night and then cut my heart out in a bed of rose petals.”

He pretends to gag.

“I’m just making suggestions. You need to be more proactive. The game’s no fun if you don’t try.”

“Didn’t you say you were going to kill me first?”

“I’m ruminating on it.” I haven’t given it a single thought. Han Jisung is too precious to hurt.

He pulls a long-suffering breath and meets my eyes. “Minho, look, I know you have some kind of a death wish—”

“I’ve come to terms with my fate.”

“And you’re a moron for that — but let me finish. You’re talking about this game, and I’m willing to play along. But only if _you_ try.”

“Try to what?”

“Live. I’m not gonna hunt down and kill a guy who already considers himself dead. As long as I’m speaking your language… where’s the fun in that?”

I smile and stretch my hand out. “Alright. I’ll try if you do. Deal?”

He shakes it. “Deal.”

He drops me off in front of my building. It’s still raining, it’s only coming down harder, but I don’t feel like going inside. I sit on the steps outside the lobby and watch people walk by.

I take the photos out of my pocket, pinching the laminate between my fingers. So badly I want to drop it and forget.

But I fold it in two and stuff it into my wallet.

I can’t let go. Not yet.


	6. Chapter 6

So far, Jisung’s only attempt on my life has been a car rigged to explode. Disappointing, frankly. Eight years of training in assassination and all he can muster is a dinky explosion?

To my delight, his next attempts are far more inspired.

Every Saturday morning when I get off work, I do my laundry at Laundro-Plus. I’m sitting on the floor, watching my clothes tumble, when a flash of red flits across my eye. I look up to the window above the washer. The same light roams my face, centres right between my eyes.

I lunge to the side and crawl across the floor, taking cover behind the row of machines. Would he really take me out midday at a laundromat? Why would he use a rifle with a laser? Maybe he’d taken my idiotic ‘make it spectacular’ advice.

I raise my hand above the machine. The red dot appears on my palm. I yank it back.

I calculate the distance between myself and the front door. If I sprint like a madman I might be able to make it out. Fuck, what about my laundry?

“Mr. Lee?”

I look up at the lady standing over me. She’s taken her glasses off to convey her befuddlement more clearly.

“Hi, Mrs. Kang.” I sink out of my crouch, casually crossing my legs. “Nice day out, right?”

“Is everything alright over here?”

“Just waiting for my load.”

“Aren’t you using the washer over there?” She points.

“Yeah, I… watching it was making me dizzy. So I’m sitting here now. Is that okay?”

She puts her glasses on and backs away.

I shift into a crouch again, shimmying to the end of the row. Here goes nothing.

I dart across the room, arms swinging. The bell clatters as I bust through the doors, ignoring Mrs. Kang’s shouts — “The rinse cycle hasn’t even begun!” — and book it down the sidewalk. I’m braced for it, the sound of gunfire, but I make it around the corner undamaged. I fall back against the brick wall.

A flash of red in my peripheral vision.

I take off again, sprinting through a parking lot. I squeeze between the cars, across the road — narrowly avoiding the tail end of a station wagon — and into a construction site. A hard hat guy yells at me to get my ass off the property, but I’ve already thrown myself over the fence and fled up the street.

I run till I’m back at my building, in the lobby, up the stairs, inside my apartment. I slam the door behind me and double over, short of breath.

When I unfold, a red light is shining through my window.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!”

I dive into my room, army-crawl into the closet and slam the shutters. There’s plenty of space since my clothes are back at the laundromat, waiting for the dryer. The first casualty in our game, I suppose.

──

“Han Jisung’s second attempt on my life,” I say, following him down the hallway at Headquarters, “failed. Miserably.”

He glares at me from above his Starbucks. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“I have a recovery mission — don’t _you_ have work to do?”

“I’m still supposed to keep an eye on you.”

“Well then, watch me go.”

I turn and walk away. When I check over my shoulder, he’s not looking.

“I told you to watch me go!”

He just lifts his coffee cup and takes a long sip.

Happy to be driving the Rolls-Royce — my new favourite car since Jisung blew up the Lambo — I head to Seoul’s defunct high school from the ‘70s. According to the file, a former FBI agent hid information regarding global operations somewhere on the second floor. I’m supposed to find the information and report back to Headquarters.

I leave the car at the side of the road, keeping an eye out for night watchmen as I sneak through a gap in the fence. Because it’s a demolition zone, already half-wrecked, the front doors aren’t locked. The inside is barren and dead quiet, lockers to the right, a view of the track out the caved-in wall to the left.

I climb the steps to the second floor, comb though the classrooms off the hallway. They’re empty — the desks and chalkboards must have been cleared out a while ago — but every once in a while I find a pencil or a ripped-out page of a notebook on the floor. I never made it to high school; I stopped attending junior high to help my mother make ends meet. I briefly wonder if I would have turned out differently if I’d spent my time learning math instead of how to perform emergency autoenucleation.

Halfway down the hall is the music room. Musical notes taped up on the wall, a mouldy book of nursery rhymes propped up on the windowsill. I check for loose floorboards, knuckle at the walls for hollows, poke around inside the vent.

The door slams shut behind me. I blink. Jisung? Or ghosts? I’m not sure which would bode worse for me.

A little sound, like a hiss. There are small black bulbs hidden in the corners of the ceiling.

I smell the air. Rotten eggs. _Oh fuck me._

I run to the door and grab the knob. Somehow it’s locked from the outside. I bang my shoulder into it, once, twice, thrice, but it doesn’t budge.

I take a breath, hold it in, and turn around, assessing my options. Even if I manage to break the glass — it looks double-paned — it’s a two-storey drop to the ground. For Christ’s sake, I walked _directly_ past the grappling hook back at the armoury.

Then I remember the vent.

I squeeze myself into a duct barely wider than my shoulders, shimmying for dear life. At least this is more fun than being ambushed at the laundromat, even if the hydrogen sulfide is making my eyes water and my throat itch.

The tunnel abruptly ends in a downward drop — open air, jagged concrete and spikes of rebar wait for me at the bottom. I’m not religious but I cross myself.

I push forward, wobbling face-first down the vent, trying to brace myself against the sides. I lurch downward every time I cough. Thank god I’m wearing gloves — my clammy hands would have gotten me skewered.

Finally I can reach down, steady myself against the broken concrete. I lower myself through the gap but something sharp scrapes along my back. I yelp and falter and just as I’m about to fall, a piece of rebar stabs through my pant leg, leaves me swinging upside-down 15 feet in the air.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

I freeze. The glare of a flashlight appears below and a security guard follows. He turns full circle, pauses for a minute, and marches around the corner. The light fades. I suck in a breath of relief and cough it out.

──

I slam my foot down on Jisung’s desk. He spins in his chair, appraises my pant leg torn up to the knee, and then my red eyes and dust-speckled hair. He’s trying not to smile.

“You look tousled today,” he says innocently, “what happened?”

“I got some bum information, actually. Someone must have left a forged file on my desk. I could’ve died, you know.”

“That’s literally the point.” He spins again. “Good day, Agent Lee.”

I step on his height adjuster and his seat drops half a foot. He’s yelling but I’m gone like the wind.

His third attempt on my life was more promising than the previous two. I have no doubt he’ll only get more shrewd, brutal, cunning as I survive again and again. I can’t lose. I’ve already talked a big game — what would they say about me at the water cooler if I croaked now?

So I’m vigilant. I search the system for authentication before I trust any random file I find on my desk. I carry brass knuckles in case he jumps me in an alley, a burner phone in case he imprisons me, and a can of bear spray in case he… sends a bear, I guess. Everywhere I go — the grocery store, the bank, the bathroom — I keep my guard up, my shoulder checked and an eye peeled.

His next attempt comes at an inopportune time. I’m scheduled for a filling at the dentist, but as I walk into the lobby, I know something is wrong. A maintenance worker is taping an ‘out of order’ sign to the elevator door. I swear it was working fine just last week when I came in for a checkup.

“Excuse me,” I say, “what’s wrong with the elevator?”

“A complaint came in earlier this morning. Higher-ups told me to put up the sign till it can get checked out.”

I smile and say thanks. He wanders away while I stay put, looking back and forth between the stairs and the elevator. Is this one of Jisung’s tricks? He easily could have faked a call from “higher-ups” to ensure I wouldn’t use the elevator. Why does he want me in the stairwell? More sniper shenanigans? Tar on the steps and poisonous bees? An Indiana Jones-style boulder?

You’ll have to try harder than that, Agent Han.

I press the button and the doors open promptly. As I suspected. I have to resist the urge to call him simply to boast. Not to mention it’d be an excuse to hear his voice before my appointment. The dentist has always made me antsy. He used to leave messages to calm me down before — well, before he stopped.

The elevator halts and shudders with a sound like a snap. It doesn’t start moving again, only lurches deeper with every faint snap snap snap from above the car. Wait a fucking second, did Jisung fake the elevator being out of order knowing I would take it anyway? Am I _that_ predictable? He really chose to kill me via metal coffin free-fall pulverization?

I climb onto the railings and open the hatch in the ceiling. Thank god it’s an old building — the new models only open from the outside. The elevator shaft is dark and daunting, shooting upward into a void. The five suspension ropes are three-down already, the wheels on the emergency breaks are rusted and mouldy.

Another cable splits and the elevator plunges, stops, quivers below me. The last rope is tearing — I scramble to grab it and pull myself up as it narrows to a single string and snaps free. The force flings me upward while the elevator plummets down, brakes screeching against the guides. It finally lands, crashes with a plume of dust and a tinny _boom_ at the bottom of the shaft.

I’m dangling from the remaining rope, swinging side to side. I yank my phone out of my pocket with one hand and dial Jisung.

He picks up after eight rings. His voice is raspy. “Minho…? What the fuck, I’m sleeping.”

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Do you want a list?”

“Of all the damned ways to kill me, this is how you choose to do it? And today specifically? You know I hate the dentist!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You sabotaged the elevator and now I’m, like, six storeys up hanging by a cable!”

“Oh my fuck, are you okay?!”

He sounds genuinely surprised, concerned. It throws me. “Er, yeah. You did this, didn’t you?”

“No, I set some trip wires at your place, that’s it — what happened to the elevator?”

“It… wasn’t in service.”

“Then why did you take it?”

“Because I thought you set a trap in the stairwell.”

“Jesus Christ, Minho.”

“Don’t ‘Jesus Christ Minho’ me! What was I supposed to expect, a totally coincidental malfunctioning elevator?”

He sighs. “Way to be vigilant. What are you gonna do now?”

“I dunno yet.” The next floor is a ways up. I put my phone away and scale up the rope. The twisted steel burns my hands.

“You can always start screaming for help you know,” he says, muffled in my pocket. “That’s what a normal person would do.”

“I can do this, swear to god. Things work out for me. You remember the jetpack fiasco?”

He sounds like he’s cringing. “Wasn’t our finest moment. Though I’m pretty sure I’m incapable of fine moments at this point. At least I don’t pilot under the influence anymore.”

I’m rocking my legs back and forth, trying to gain momentum. I push myself onto the narrow ledge at the elevator doors, but I can’t keep my balance. I hold the rope tight, swinging back into the centre.

“Fuck… Jisung, look, I don’t care whether I fall now or you get me later, but if I die… please make my obituary funny.”

He’s silent for a minute. I think he’s smiling. “If you say so. ‘Lee Minho, 25, died like a raw egg hitting the kitchen floor’ — how’s that?”

“Profound.”

I pump my legs again, reach my shoe toward the ledge. I grab the side of the door with one hand, the other hesitating to let go of the rope. My eyes slip downward. It’s a vacuum, pitch black, bottomless. Like an elevator to hell or something.

Finally I let go of the rope. I steady myself, taking a breath, forehead against the cool metal.

“You’re not falling, are you?” Jisung says cautiously.

“Not yet. Now I have to get the doors open.”

“Did you bring your utilities?”

“No. Think I can brute-force it?”

“Might as well give it a shot.”

I stick my fingers into the tiny gap and try to pry it apart; the doors inch open a crack. I jam my shoe into the gap just as the other wobbles and slips off the ledge. I yelp, grab the doors, stuff my hands through, trying to find something to hold onto. I feel like I’m squeezing myself through a pair of metal jaws, shimmying and struggling till I finally topple to the marble floor on the other side.

The doors ding and close. The people walking the hallway sidestep me and avert their eyes. I stay on my back, panting, and take my phone out of my pocket, holding it to my ear.

“You still there?”

“I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Sorry for waking you up, I’ll let you go.”

“Wait — don’t hang up. Good luck, Minho. You’ll be okay.”

It’s like time travel, suddenly it’s five years ago and we’re still Us. I murmur a thanks and hang up. For all his attempts, this is the only one that kills me.


	7. Chapter 7

Even at midnight, the streets are busy in downtown Seoul, lane after lane, car after car, unwieldy crosswalks crawling with foot traffic. The gaps between lanes are just wide enough for my target to weave through, engine roaring like an animal. I follow behind on his skid marks, yelling at bystanders to make room.

I didn’t mean for my mission to get so out of hand. It seemed routine — sneak into Yu Daeshim’s hotel room, lace his liquor with cyanide and escape via the laundry chute. But something went wrong, he must have had an informant on the inside (the people we hunted often had just as many plants as we did). I was about to slip into the hotel — dressed as a sous-chef, which wasn’t optimal — when a man bumped into me, hissed “watch it” and then stopped dead in his tracks.

We locked eyes. And drew our guns, the barrels inches from each other’s faces.

“An agent,” he said tightly, backing away.

I made up the distance. “Yu Daeshim, surrender peacefully.”

“Stay the fuck away from me.” He stumbled backward out the door, kept his gun pointed at my forehead until he was out of sight, taking off in a mad sprint down the alleyway. I ran forward, aimed, finger on the trigger, but he spun backward and fired; I ducked back into the doorway as the bullet blew off a piece of brick next to my head. When I peeked out again, all I saw was the flick of a shoe as he bolted around the corner.

I pursued, ripping off the damned chef getup as I ran. He was thirty paces ahead, waving his gun at two motorcyclists idling on the road. The men backed away; Yu swung his leg over one of the bikes and took off down the street.

I ran to the second and jumped on. I couldn’t help but smile as I pulled back on the throttle, blasted through the intersection to the music of blaring car horns. I’ve always loved motorcycles. Jisung and I used to take The Company’s bikes out for joyrides while the instructors and students were asleep. Maybe I was a bit obsessed with that scene from Skyfall where Bond is zooming across rooftops on a Honda like it’s a magic carpet.

Now — after tailing Yu seven blocks, two squares and several red lights across downtown — the bastard flees into a mall, parting the sea of shoppers like Moses. It’s smart; I’m likely to back down if the risk of public intervention runs too high. The risk is already astronomical. It just makes me want to complete my mission more.

We race along the second-floor walkways, past an H&M and a cellphone kiosk. He leads the way into a department store, knocking random shit onto the floor to trip me up. I steer out of the way, watching him from the other side of the perfume counter.

Abruptly Yu does a 180, speeds back the way we came. I pivot and follow him. The wall of glass at the front of the store flies toward him but he doesn’t stop or swerve.

Oh Jesus. He’s going to smash through it, gamble his chances on the one-storey drop.

 _This is my fated Bond moment,_ a little voice in my head says.

Yu slams hard into the glass — it cracks but doesn’t break. His body flies to the floor and the motorcycle spins on one wheel, engine roaring. I stutter to a stop and run to check his pulse. Nothing.

Well. I suppose he did my job for me. My lucky day.

──

“New hairstyle, Agent Lee?”

Jung Wheein is the head of the poisons, anesthetics and sedatives subdivision. I’m returning the vial of cyanide that I swore to her I’d use wisely and ended up not using at all.

I pat my own head. “I’m a little windswept. Motorcycle chase, you know how it goes.”

She squints at me like I look stupid. “Clocking out?”

“Yep. See you tomorrow.”

She takes the vial and claps me on the shoulder as she walks past. “We’ll see about that.” Cryptic. Usually I’d badger her for an explanation, but I’m a bit preoccupied with my hair at the moment.

Back at my apartment, I find the door unlocked. I peek inside, half-expecting a bazooka aimed point-blank at my face, but all I see is my dark living room, empty save for Jisung about to climb out my window.

I close the door behind me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He freezes, puts his leg down. “Er. Hey.” He squints at me. “Your hair’s funny.”

I pat it down again. “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing.”

“You poisoned everything in my fridge, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got? I thought you’d be frenzied and brutal by now.”

He shrugs innocently. “Oh well. Better luck next time.” He puts one leg through the window.

“Jisung, wait.” I flick through my mental rolodex of excuses to make him stay. “It’s not that late, why don’t you… stick around for a bite to eat?”

He smiles. “Yeah right.”

“Then at least help me brainstorm. Obviously your current tactics aren’t working out.”

“I’m not letting you recommend me shit anymore.”

“Aw c’mon.” I crack my knuckles and put my fists up. “A little hand-to-hand maybe?”

He raises his eyebrows. “You wanna fight?”

“A friendly match between” — I gesture between us — “whatever we are. And if it turns into a battle to the death, then it is what it is.”

“This isn’t happening.”

“Don’t you remember training?”

“I remember putting you on your ass.”

“Really? I don’t recall.” I wave him over with two fingers. “Jog my memory, hm?”

He clenches his jaw, staring at me. And climbs back inside, closes the window.

“What are we doing here?” He stands in front of me, shucking his coat. “Boxing, jujitsu, drunken catfight?”

I laugh. “All of the above?”

“Then I can fight dirty.” He’s rapt by the idea. “Any rules? Choking, crotch shots, foreign objects?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Scratching, biting, hair pulling?”

“I’m your playground, honey. No holding back. You ready?”

He stands in front of me, cracking his neck side to side. “Touch me.”

I put one hand on his shoulder — he grabs it and twists it back. I hear my bones pop.

“Christ,” I laugh, shaking it out. “Immediately you’re just trying to hurt me.”

“You should’ve defended yourself, like this.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. I pull it back and he chops my throat — I automatically grab his wrist with my other hand. His leg is already hooked around mine but I manage to shove him away before he can trip me up.

“You’re going easy on me,” he says.

“So are you.”

I grab his arm but he spins out of my grasp, yanks my head down within an inch of his knee.

“Should I ease up even more?”

I pull his leg out from under him and catch him by the waist before he pitches backward. I’m about to brag but he kicks both my knees out, swings me to the side so I land hard on my back. He untangles his legs from mine and gets up.

“C’mon, let’s go again,” he says, giddy, hopping.

“No holding back this time,” I mutter, getting to my feet.

Contrary to what I just said, I wind up before I throw a punch. He grabs me, yanks me closer and locks his arms around my chest, holding my arms down. I throw myself forward, flipping him over my head — it lands him on the floor in front of me.

 _“Jesus, ow.”_ He laughs under his breath. “Should’ve seen that coming.”

“You could’ve taken me down if you had put your legs around me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

I smile and reach down to him. “Get up, let’s go again.”

He stalls on his knees, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fuck, I think I hurt something.”

“Really? Sorry, I’ll—”

He swipes my knees out from under me, putting me on my ass. Before I can recover, he pushes me back against the floor, straddling my hips.

“You’re making it easy, Minho.”

I hook my leg around his, push him over and pin him down. “How easy was that?”

He tries to do the same maneuver but I brace myself against the floor. He can’t tip me over. He murmurs a damnit and we both laugh.

“Any more tricks up your sleeve?” I ask.

“I’m out. This is your chance. You have me.”

I lean down to kiss him, the spot behind his jaw. “Whatever will I do with you?”


	8. Chapter 8

I wake up at 6 in the evening — too early for me. Instead of trying to sleep, I roll onto my side, letting my arm fall over Jisung’s waist. Usually I wouldn’t push it, usually he wouldn’t even let me, but this time he doesn’t protest. I close my eyes and pay lazy attention to the way he shifts, his head, his hips, his feet. I just love it all, I love to have him in my space.

I don’t know. I’m feeling clingy. Last night was the most fun I’ve had in months. This is what I wanted when I told him to play with me. I wanted to see that spark in his eyes, make him laugh, tease him, move with him. I wanted to love him, feel the inkling that he might love me back.

It’s too depressing to think about. That this is all for nothing, that it hasn’t meant jack shit. I was never the cool Bond character who didn’t particularly care if he lived or died; I’m just lonely and sad, too numb to admit it, given a taste of closeness and immediately desperate for more.

I hold him tighter unthinkingly, pursing my lips against his nape. He stirs. I want him to wake up but I don’t as well. When he wakes up, he leaves. Maybe I can stretch the morning out a little longer if I just don’t let him go.

“What time is it?” he whispers.

“Six-something.”

He groans. “I have a recon mission _and_ an assassination tonight. Somehow I’m supposed to keep an eye on you at the same time.”

“Long day. You can go back to sleep — we have a few hours left.”

I feel him move — I automatically hold him tighter. But he just turns over to face me, settling in with his head on my pillow.

“I think I sleep better here than I do at my place,” he murmurs.

“Oh. Uh. Good.”

“What’s going on?”

“Huh?”

“You’re tense.”

“I don’t know. You’re staying.”

His lips come open a bit. “Yeah. I guess I don’t feel like being… alone right now. You mind if I stay a bit longer?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” I say quickly. “Is that why you came here last night?”

“Maybe. Sometimes I get lonely when I’m not at work.”

“So you didn’t taint everything in my fridge?”

“No, I did that too.”

I laugh. “Seriously everything?”

“Insurance. I didn’t know what you’d eat first.”

“Too bad, I would’ve made you breakfast.”

He bites his lip before he speaks. “I didn’t poison the coffee.”

“Alright, coffee. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

I’m about to get up, but suddenly his hands are cupping my face, his lips are hard against mine. I grab his wrists, kissing him back.

He breaks away, looks into my eyes. His mouth opens like he has a thousand things to say.

“I… take milk, no sugar.”

I smile, confused. “I know, Jisungie, I remember.”

He smiles back, gives me a thumbs up. I get out of bed, pull on boxers and a shirt and head to the kitchen. I pour the coffee grounds in with hot water, add milk to both, sugar to mine, and carry the mugs back to the bedroom. He’s sitting back against the headboard, eyes sleepy and hair puffy.

“Milk, no sugar, no poison,” I say, giving him one cup, “the way you like it.”

“Thanks.” He lifts it to his lips.

I climb in next to him. “You were restless last night. Dreams? Nightmares?”

“I don’t remember. I feel like I blinked and woke up.”

“Tired?”

“Kind of.”

“Me too. Sorry, I woke you up, didn’t I? I feel clingy today.”

“I noticed.” He smiles.

“How’s it taste?” I nod to the coffee.

“Fine, good.”

I smack my lips. “It’s a bit funny.”

“You shouldn’t drink instant coffee and expect it to be good.”

“Decent coffee requires effort though, I can’t effort in the morning.” I lean back, closing my eyes. “Are you claiming to have a fucking Bodum at your place?”

“I’m saying everyday I get up and make shitty coffee, _knowing_ it’ll be shitty.”

“It must be a sad existence.”

“It’s not the worst part.”

“I guess I haven’t considered buying coffee every morning… I fucking hate capitalism… and people.”

“So you’ll brave Folgers just to avoid going into a cafe?”

I nod — my head rolls to the side. “Yeah… I guess…”

His fingers gently squeeze my wrist. “You look tired.”

“I… what?”

I think he takes the mug from me. I can’t see, my eyes don’t open. My head is made of lead and my neck is a plastic straw. Wait. No. No. No. This can’t be happening.

I feel myself reach out, one heavy hand detached from my body.

I black out.


	9. Chapter 9

For a while I don’t realize I’m awake. My head is rolling back and forth, the swaying is making me dizzy. I try to stretch my legs but there isn’t any room. My eyes open slowly, blinking through the drowsiness. All I see is an outline of light in front of me, white against the pitch black.

I think I’m in the trunk of a car. The sound outside is a faint rumble, like tires against pavement. What happened? Why am I here? The last thing I remember is mixing milk in with Jisung’s coffee. Fuck, my head hurts, my stomach hurts, everything hurts down to my fingers.

Oh lord, my finger.

My arms raise in the dark. The space between my middle and and little finger is aching, an open wound covered in bandages.

He needed proof of his kill.

My breath is getting faster. He’s going to kill me, I know it. I feel around with my good hand, looking for the trunk release, an ice scraper, a screwdriver, anything. It’s empty. I roll onto my stomach, rip up the carpet and reach below the flooring. The cable isn’t there.

“Fuck,” I whisper, “fuck fuck fuck.”

I roll over again, pushing against the trunk lid with my feet. It’s locked and solid. I switch to the back panel, trying to force the seats down. I feel like a beetle on its back. I’m stuck. I’m so fucking angry.

I draw a breath and scream as loud as I can.

_“Han Jisung, you fucking bastard! Get back here right now, motherfucker, I’m fucking waiting!”_

The car steers off course — I pitch into the corner. The sound of a car door opening, someone approaching. I wriggle around with my legs folded to the tailgate, and the second he opens the trunk, I ram my shoes into his chest, sending him flying backward onto the ground.

I scramble out of the car and sprint in whatever direction I’m pointed. The land is flat and barren for miles around, the road and towering telephone poles the only aberration.

“Minho! Please wait!”

I grab a rock off the ground, spin around, ready to chuck it at him. He stutters to a standstill, hands up to protect himself.

“Get the fuck away from me,” I shout.

“Please let me explain — I swear to god, hear me out, Minho.”

“Hear you out? You’re trying to kill me, you drugged my coffee, you cut my fucking finger off!”

“Because I had to make them believe!” He takes a breath. “I had to make The Company believe I was trying to kill you.”

“You _were_ trying to kill me.”

“No, I wasn’t. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead, you know that. I put you in dangerous situations but there were always outs — because I _wanted_ you to get out.”

“B-but the explosion — and the hydrogen sulfide.”

“Minho, do you even know how clever you are? You solved every problem I gave you, I knew you would, I trusted you to survive.”

The rock drops from my hand. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you had to act normal. You had to come in to work, you had to cheat death, you had to give it your all. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I couldn’t risk you knowing anything more than you already did.”

“But… The Company… they must have realized you were faking.”

“They thought my methods were… unusual, but they didn’t doubt me.”

I hold my bandaged hand to my chest. “They really think I’m dead? You gave them the proof?”

“I’m so sorry, Minho, I had no choice. If it makes you feel any better…”

He raises his hand. It’s wrapped in bandages, like mine. I step toward him, a thousand questions in my head but I can’t voice any of them.

“Yesterday I asked Seo Soojin to report me to The Company. She said that I’d betrayed them; they ordered her to eliminate us both, like I thought they would. We’re dead in their eyes. It was the only way to escape.”

“But you didn’t want to escape, that’s why we…”

He closes his eyes, runs a restless hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to do? If I had the choice, I wouldn’t have risked our lives like this. But you’re braver than me. You chose life, you chose freedom. If I didn’t do all this — this big stupid terrible plan — you would have died, or… you would’ve escaped without me. And I didn’t want that.”

“What the fuck does that mean? ‘If I can’t be happy, neither can he’?”

“What? No! I just… I don’t think I could handle being any farther away from you than I already am.”

I blink. “Keep talking.”

“I-I don’t know where you are, you know, thinking about the uppercase Us, or what you think might happen in the future, because, sure, we’ve _been together_ a lot over the years, but I dunno what your, like, inner-most feelings are for me in a not-physical sense and—”

“Jisung, you’re circling.”

“Right yeah, sorry.” He takes a breath and blows it out. “I love you. I never stopped.”

I just stare at him. I palm my head with my four-fingered hand. “I think I need to sit.” I hunker to the ground.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know. My head hurts. And you — you’re an asshole. You really loved me this whole time, since we broke up, since we started fucking, since I became your target — and never said a goddamn word?”

“I… didn’t want to feel like I needed you.”

I let the weird silence linger.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.

“I’m pissed at you.” I drop my head onto my knees. “I… missed you.”

He’s quiet. And then he’s shooing my legs apart, plopping down in front of me.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “After we broke up, I wanted to purge you from my life. I didn’t know how to come back from that. It all feels really stupid in hindsight.”

“When you’d wake up at my place… did you ever want to stay?”

“Of course I did, Minho.”

It makes me happy in a sad way. I should have held him tighter, maybe it would have made a difference.

“You won’t try to kill me anymore?” I ask.

“You’re safe with me.”

I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him into me. He runs his fingers through my hair.

“So… what, are we on the lam now?” I say.

“We should get out of the country as soon as possible. I have two new passports and plane tickets booked. Once we land we can find a motel and figure out what we want to do next, where we want to go.”

“You mean we can do anything?”

“We’re dead now, sky’s the limit.” He hesitates for a second. “Didn’t you want to live in a little house with a mailbox and stuff?”

I smile. “Right, my geezer fantasy. I thought you said you’d, quote, rather die.”

“I dunno. It sounds kinda… nice. Never mind never mind. What are you thinking?”

“Do you remember how to ride a motorcycle?”

“Just when you’re in front — why?”

“Imagine cruising the coast on a Stryker.”

“Pretty far from a little house with a mailbox.”

“C’mon, think about it… no luggage, no worries… picnics everyday, parked on the beach… the wind in your hair… can you hear it?” I gently blow into his ear. He laughs and ribs me.

“Quit it. Seriously though, if that’s what you wanna do, I’m there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” His eyes are soft, the look I haven’t seen in years. “Trust me, Minho. It’s enough to be with you.”

I smile. “Oh? Just enough?”

“More than enough. In excess. Entirely too much.” He rolls his eyes. “Shut up, just kiss me.”

I kiss him. His hand cradles my face, bandages against my cheek. We’re smiling through it.

“Run away with me,” he murmurs.

I hear the jingle of car keys.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”


End file.
